Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Luca C Aug 2019
And all they heard was,
white noise.
In the midst of their own self destruction.
Nobody can hear us. Because no one is listening.
bakunawa Jul 2019
it can't be
so long as
she still smiles.
can't forgive what you still regret.. especially if the bitter taste only reminds you of your own mistake.

snippet of white noise, to be posted later.
thank you for reading.
ms reluctance Jan 2019
Maybe I am stuck
because I am waiting to be moved.
Maybe I can move
somebody who feels stuck.  

I loop the songs I love
until I choke them of all emotion.
I stumble through words
from a million brilliant minds
searching for madness akin to mine.

Pictures, stories, art,
opinions, musings, crafts –  
I gnaw at everything for hidden meaning.

Am I even human if nothing moves me?
Do I deserve death if I never learned to live?

Spur my soul, stir my heart
you, who knows exactly what I mean.
Or hark my bemoaning  
as the graceless floundering
of unmoored ennui.
Should I bring a résumé  of my dreams
to the publishing company on West 38th?

An abstraction of when my teeth
crumble like pastels, or summaries of my
vocal cords seeking air through a taut fabric.
I’ve achieved piercing silence in a room of white noise.

I have an impressive inventory of witnessing infidelity.
once, we were both in between romantic partners.
I was awakened by the taste of copper
from biting the inside of my cheek.
It looked worthy of an aged Merlot.

My most admirable skill is prediction.
I can sense a mass shooting or the expiring heart of a loved one.
but I usually float like an island over the scene
because my biggest weakness is lacking density.
matcha Apr 2018
i first felt confused.
everything seemed to slip between my fingers
were they even my fingers?
now i was completely terrified.
this sense that everything was foreign like i've never seen these surrounding in my entire lifetime.
i didn't
couldn't feel myself.
those fingers.
i saw them move as fingers do, but they didn't seem like my hands, my fingers, my flushed palms.
it felt surreal.
even the people i knew seemed unknown to my eyes.
it gave me this churn in my stomach.
a churn that screamed "danger".
but why?
don't i know these people?
i should know how they act
how they talk
how they walk
how they move.
but when i saw them talk
when i studied how their lips formed around words
i heard nothing.
there was no familiarity in their voice and the words they spoke from their mind to their tongues.
it sounded
like static.
like white noise.
the nothingness that's heard in a room of complete silence.
i felt like white noise.
that fuzziness; the pins and needles kind when you haven't moved in hours.
i could've brushed it off.
maybe tried to refocus my brain into thinking that
"yes. all of this is familiar. don't be so dumb."
but i couldn't.
all i felt was bile in my throat as i internalized my imminent panic.
it was settling there in the pit of my stomach all because
i couldn't recognize my own voice.
i couldn't recognize their faces.
i couldn't recognize where i was nor could i recognize why i was there in the first place.
what was my purpose?
why do i wake up, go to school, come home, sleep.
why do i do these things that give me little to no substance in my life?
this regular schedule
of constance.
that's what caused this white noise.
the white noise that pressed anxiety and stress into my chest
making it heavier
making it harder to breath
making it worse.
i hated it.
but i couldn't do anything about it.
this white noise.
oh, how much i despised the thing.
all i can do is revel in the moment until it passes.
Fritzi Melendez Jan 2018
the ringin g in          my              he ad       doe snt stop
it                   is                              so            lou d
a const a nt              dea d           s i lent  soun d
              eee e e e e e e e e  e  e    e            e          e           e             e                            
                          e e                      e ee                                     e e

         b                          w w aa                 a         a               a       a        
   a                        a                          ­ a    a                         a  
                                         w         a  a  
                   a            a                    a        a        a            ­  a               a  b      b

i   fe el               w eightl es s
im no t            m y se lf                                                          
p l ease          le ave         m e                                alo ne

  i wa n t                 t o                       be                       f ree                                  
  i t                hurt s                                      so mu ch

i ca nt                                   h ear                    
i      am n ot                                         m e                  
i dont wa nt to            c ry
a     ny                                               mor e
                 i    m    sor ry

i h ad to  te ll the m



                                        o      ­        

                ­                                            h
                                                                ­                     u
                                                             ­                                     e
                                                               ­     s
                                      ­            i
                                                               ­                                             n
                  ­                                                  a
     ­                             e
Paula Sullaj Nov 2017
The    physical     alienation
tilts  the entire spectrum of
  internal   parallel universes
  Which    generate  limitless  
  scenarios   of   "perhaps"-es
  and  bittersweet "what if"-s
  Up to the  point  where  the
  outside  dissolves   into   the
   inevitable           acceptance
Getaways from Soul Constipation
Maria Imran Jan 2017
White noise
doesn't help me block out echoes of your lies
the color of your laughter
Just Benifet Nov 2016
I can tell that the radio's playing
But all that I hear is white noise
I know that he's talking
I can see his lips moving
But his words go in one ear and out the other
Not coming anywhere near my mind
Which might as well be in another dimension
Not in this smoke filled room
With the heat and sweat of all these bodies
I feel his hands
Places I know my father wouldn't want him to go
I should tell him no
But I'm frozen in this white dimension
White walls
White floors, white ceiling
White noise
Next page